by Jay Allan
“What’s wrong, Ace?” Lucas looked around, watching everyone pile out of the two vehicles. “Where’s the skipper?”
“Don’t worry, Lucas,” Ace said, even as he struggled to keep his own worries hidden. “He stayed behind with Arn’s people, but he should be back any time.” He wished he believed that, but after the resistance they’d run into, he couldn’t imagine the road was still open. Blackhawk may have escaped on foot, but then he’d have over three hundred kilometers to cover, with no food or water . . . and plenty of adversaries.
Lucas stared at Ace then at Sarge. He didn’t look like he was buying it. “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there.” It wasn’t a question.
“Ark?” Astra came running out of the airlock. She looked around quickly and raced up to Ace. “Where is Ark?”
“He’s still with the rebels, Astra,” Ace said. “He’ll be here soon. He sent us ahead with the core.”
She stared back at him for a second, then she stepped back and frowned. He could tell she was suspicious. “What’s going on, Ace?”
“He’s with Arn and his people, Astra. He felt responsible for leading them into the operation, and he wanted to make sure they were okay.” It wasn’t a lie, not strictly speaking. Not that Ace had a problem with lying when he had to. He was the closest thing the Claw had to a confidence man, and he’d tricked his way out of more than one tight spot. But he knew Astra Lucerne was smart as hell, and naturally suspicious too. It was going to take everything he had to fool her, but the last thing he needed was for her to march off in search of Blackhawk. He’d have the Twins restrain her if he had to, but he much preferred a little trickery to a lot of brute force. One way or the other, he’d made a promise to Ark, and he was going to see it done.
She gave him a hard stare, but he didn’t give out a clue. Ace Graythorn had the best poker face in half the systems in the Far Stars, and he looked back at her with nothing but sincerity in his eyes. “He’ll be back soon, Astra. But we’ve got to get the core installed so we’re ready to get the hell out of here when he does.”
She nodded. “Okay.” She took a shallow breath. “That sounds like something he’d do.”
Ace wasn’t sure she was completely convinced, but she wasn’t going off the rails at least, and he’d take that for the moment. He had work to do. They really needed to get the core installed and get the Claw off Saragossa. Then he’d worry about getting Astra to leave without Ark. He suspected he’d need some fresh trickery for that. Who knows—maybe I won’t. Maybe Ark will be back before we’re ready to lift off.
And maybe I’ll inherit a diamond mine from my bastard father.
Even if Blackhawk got away clean and somehow made it through the countryside with no supplies, it would take days to reach the Claw’s position on foot . . . if he could find it at all. And they didn’t have days. They’d kicked a hornet’s nest, and the revolutionaries would sooner or later send search parties this way. The Claw had to lift off as soon as Sam could install the core, and Ace knew that meant leaving Blackhawk behind.
“If you’ll excuse me, Astra, I’ve got to see to getting the core aboard.” He saw the Twins walking down the cargo hatch, and he waved. “I need you guys to help Sam haul the core down to engineering.” The thing was heavy, but he was half certain the Twins could carry a small asteroid between them. He waited for them to walk over, then headed toward the big transport.
He almost stopped dead about five meters away. He’d been in the buggy for five hours, and he’d almost forgotten the stench of the transport. He had an impulse to give Shira a hard time again about stealing a garbage truck, and it just reminded him that she wasn’t there either. Whatever Blackhawk was going through, Shira was probably in the same boat. Ace and Shira didn’t appear to get along very well, but that was all show. The pointed barbs tossed back and forth, the constant petty competitions—none of it meant anything when things got tough. They’d always had each other’s backs. He realized he was just as worried about Shira as he was Blackhawk. Unfortunately he didn’t have time to think about either of them at the moment. He had a job to do.
“Sam,” he shouted. “The Twins are going to carry that thing to engineering and help you get it in place.”
She walked around from behind the transport. “It may not be that easy, Ace. That ‘thing’ is a hell of a lot more advanced than the one we had before.”
Ace could tell she was nervous. He tried to think of what Blackhawk would tell her. “Sam, nobody knows their way around the guts of a spaceship like you. And it’s damned certain you’re the top expert on this miserable rock.” He smiled. “I know you can do it. Ark knows you can do it. We all know . . . so now, you’ve just got to go down there and do it.
“And you’ve got to do it quickly.”
Ace wanted the Claw off-planet as quickly as possible. He was concerned about the revolutionaries finding them, but that’s not what was worrying him the most. What bothered him the most was Astra Lucerne. He thought he had her under control for the moment, but he knew she was a ticking time bomb. If she figured out Blackhawk wasn’t coming with them, he’d never get her to go along, not without shackles. He’d chain her up if he had to, but even Ace Graythorn found that prospect a bit daunting.
“General, we found one still alive.” The sergeant’s voice was crisp, professional, but there was a hint of surprise there too. “He is dressed differently than the others.”
Carano had been standing opposite the prisoners, his frustration growing exponentially as they ignored his questions and stood silently. Carano wasn’t in the mood for bullshit. He’d planned a quick snatch-and-grab job, but he found himself facing half a battalion of Revolutionary Army troops instead. The spaceport had been shot to hell before his people arrived, and they’d come upon a firefight already under way. He had no idea what was going on, but he damned sure intended to find out.
One thing was clear: someone had gotten here before his people. The disabled transports were half loaded with high-tech weaponry, and there were crates lying all over the tarmac. He didn’t have much hard info, but from the looks of it, the splinter rebels had made their own unsuccessful attempt to grab the imperial weapons.
“Keep them right here.” He stared into the eyes of one of the prisoners as he snapped out the order. “I will be back in a minute.” He turned toward the sergeant who had called him. “I’ll be right there.
“Sergeant Riktor!” He called out to another member of his team. Riktor had been leading the search of the transports.
Riktor leaped out from behind one of the trucks. “Yes, sir,” he snapped back, rushing over toward Carano.
“Sergeant, I don’t know what the hell happened here, but our plans are fucked.” He looked around the tarmac, now a battlefield littered with dead and lit by the scattered fires of burning vehicles. “We beat off those revolutionaries, but they’ll be back, with ten times the numbers. We’re not going to be able to get these weapons loaded up and out of here.” His gaze moved back to Riktor. “Sergeant, I need you to rig this ship and these trucks with explosives.” He exhaled loudly. “If we can’t have the weapons, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the wogs have them.”
“Yes, sir.” Riktor followed the Helms’s battlefield protocol and didn’t salute. It was standard field practice. Identifying officers only made them vulnerable to snipers. “Immediately, General.” He turned back toward the vehicles, waving to some of his troopers.
“And, Sergeant . . .”
Riktor spun around on his heels. “Yes, sir?”
“Hurry.” Carano stared off in the direction of the city. “I doubt we have much time.”
“Yes, General.”
Carano turned and walked around the side of the ship. “What is it, Sergeant Lann?
“We found this one still alive, sir,” Lann repeated.
Carano sighed. He didn’t have time for prisoners. It was going to be hard enough to break the three imperials, and he didn’t see the point in
dragging along a wounded rebel. He was about to order the sergeant to finish him off when he looked down.
He could tell at once, this was no rebel. The Saragossans all wore uniforms made from the crappy textiles they produced on-planet. The figure lying on the ground was wearing a plain tunic and breeches, and they were of vastly superior quality to anything he’d seen on Saragossa outside a noble’s household. The sergeant had told him the man was dressed differently, but he hadn’t mentioned the vest he was wearing over the tunic—a suit of first-rate body armor.
He knelt down to take a closer look, reaching out and turning the unconscious man’s face toward his. He knew immediately it was familiar, but he couldn’t place it at first. Whoever this was, Carano had met him before, years ago. He was sure of it. Images went through his head, acquaintances from three decades of combat. Who the hell would I know on this shithole planet?
He looked down again, his eyes panning over Blackhawk’s unconscious form. There was a nasty gash on the side of his head but no other injuries he could see. He glanced up at Lann. “No gunshot wounds?”
“No, General. It looks like he got hit on the head and knocked out.” The sergeant waved to the soldier standing next to him. “He had these, sir.”
Carano looked up. The soldier was holding a rifle and a pistol, both expensive high-tech weapons, not the kind of thing one expected to find on a splinter group rebel. The trooper also held a shortsword in his hand, old but well cared for, made of forged iridium-tipped hypersteel with a worn leather grip. His eyes focused immediately on the sword, and recollection flowed into his mind. He’d definitely seen that blade before. He still had the scar it left.
“Arkarin Blackhawk,” he whispered to himself, “what the hell are you doing on Saragossa?”
CHAPTER 22
“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS, ACE.” LUCAS WAS STANDING OUTSIDE the Claw, gesturing wildly. He couldn’t believe what Ace was telling him.
“I’m perfectly serious, Lucas.” His voice was calm and soft, and he stared right at the angry pilot as he spoke. “And keep your voice down. You want Astra to hear?”
Ace had promised Blackhawk he’d get Astra off-planet and back to her father, but he’d never said anything about going along himself. It was a technicality, he knew, a hair he was splitting, but Ace had never been one to adhere to the letter of the law when he could skirt along the spirit of it. “Look, Lucas, this isn’t about singling you out. You’re the only one besides the captain who can fly the ship, right?”
Lucas stared back, but he didn’t say anything. He’d gone crazy when Ace first told him most of the crew was staying behind. The pilot didn’t want to leave at all without Blackhawk and Shira, but running back to Celtiboria while most of his friends and comrades remained behind made him sick to his stomach. His eyes dropped, staring at the dusty ground.
“Lucas, listen to me. Ark wanted Astra safe. He made me promise him we’d get her back to her father as soon as the core was installed.” He crouched down, trying to hold Lucas’s gaze. “I promised him.”
“You did.” Lucas looked back up, his eyes wide, staring back into Ace’s. “I didn’t promise shit, Ace. And I’m not leaving without the skipper.”
“You may not have promised him, but it’s what he wants. It’s the one thing he asked me to do.” He paused. “You can see how much he cares about her. More than as a job or an important passenger. More, even, than as the daughter of a friend.” Ace was sure Blackhawk loved the girl, but he stopped short of saying it out loud. “Don’t you care what he wants? Are you ready to ignore what he asked us to do because you weren’t there for him to make you promise? Because you know damned well that’s what he wants.” And I know damned well that I’m playing dirty, but I don’t have time for this.
Lucas took a deep breath. “Damn it, Ace.” He shook his head. “This is bullshit.”
“Of course it is, Lucas. I know you don’t want to go, but you have to. It’s what the captain wanted.” His voice was rougher, more urgent. “What do you want? To ignore the captain’s orders? Or for all of us to come along and leave Ark and Shira here alone? Because that’s what we’ll have to do if you don’t go.”
Lucas’s eyes bored into Ace’s. “Fuck you.”
“Fine, fuck me. But that doesn’t change the reality. The situation sucks, and we’ve got to do what has to be done, not what we want to do.” His voice softened. “Now will you help me, Lucas? Will you take Astra back home while the rest of us go after Ark?”
Lucas stood silently for a few seconds. Finally, he nodded grudgingly. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” He took a deep breath, relieved that Lucas had agreed. “And you won’t be going back alone, remember. Sam’s got to go too, at least. I know she’s a little worried about the way she’s getting that core jury-rigged and, besides, the Claw’s still not 100 percent repaired. You’ll need her on board in case anything fails on the trip.” Ace—like the rest of the crew of the Claw—had seen Sam Sparks fix so many seemingly hopeless problems, he just assumed she could do anything. But the spy ship’s core was vastly more complex than anything she’d worked on before. The Claw’s connecting systems would have to be heavily upgraded before the thing could operate optimally, and without her constant attention in the meantime, there was no way the ship was making Celtiboria.
“And the Twins will go with you, too.” Ace stared over at the two giants as they walked down the cargo hatch, ducking their heads as they did. He’d asked them to unload some supplies for the force remaining behind. No doubt they thought that included them. In an accounting of the Claw’s muscle, the brothers had to be right at the top of the list. But they were pure brute force, absolutely no finesse. And however strong they were, they couldn’t take on the armies of the revolutionaries and the nobles all by themselves. Any attempt to find Blackhawk and Shira would rely on stealth and surprise, not brute force, and their adversaries would see and hear the two giants coming from a kilometer away.
Just as important, with the Twins the rump crew of the Claw would have some strength in a fight, at least. Ace couldn’t be sure the ship would make it all the way back to Celtiboria without having to land somewhere for repairs . . . and there was more than one world where Blackhawk and his band of adventurers were less than welcome. Ace had to admit Lucas could handle himself pretty well in a fight, and he’d seen Sam drop her innocent routine more than once and, in a heartbeat, put a perfect round hole in an enemy’s head with that tiny gun she carried everywhere. But neither was comparable to the Twins. The two brothers were like forces of nature in a fight. He remembered the two of them on Argonia, standing alongside the airlock, with assault rifles in both hands, holding off the locals while Lucas fired up the engines for their escape. And they could handle the Claw’s guns if needed, too.
“What about Astra, Ace? What do we tell her?” Lucas glanced toward the ship then back at his comrade. “There’s no way she’s going to go for it.”
“That’s why we don’t tell her anything.” Ace instinctively lowered his voice and glanced toward the ship himself. “She’s in her quarters, and if you can keep her there while Sam fixes the core and then lift off without her knowing, it will be done. What’s she going to do? Walk back from orbit?”
“But I need to warm up the reactor and feed juice into the engine circuits. That all makes noise. The ship shakes; the lights dim. You know that.” Lucas couldn’t imagine sneaking a liftoff prep past a passenger, especially one as smart and suspicious as Astra Lucerne.
“Sam’s been firing every system in the ship trying to test that core she’s installing, Lucas. I’ll tell Astra that Sam’s getting the core ready because Ark will be back soon.” He paused. He felt guilty even saying it, but he knew Lucas was right. Astra would refuse to go if they told her the truth. He hated lying to her, especially telling her Ark was safe, but his promise to Blackhawk was the most important thing in his mind. “I’ll even ask her to stay put in her cabin because we might have a radiation lea
k. By the time she realizes I lied to her, you guys will be halfway to low orbit.”
And you will have one very pissed-off Astra Lucerne on your hands. She’d make his life miserable, Ace was sure of that, but what could she really do once they were in space?
Lucas still looked uncertain. “She won’t be strapped in when we launch.”
Ace shrugged. “She might get bounced around a little, but probably nothing worse than a few bruises.”
“I guess . . .”
Ace exhaled with relief. Lucas was on board. Maybe reluctantly, but Ace would take it.
“You’d better bring the captain back,” Lucas said.
“We’ll find Ark while you’re gone,” he said. “I promise.” They both knew he couldn’t really promise that—the captain had been going into a losing fight when Ace had last seen him—but neither would consider the possibility that Blackhawk was already dead. Not consciously, at least.
But in the back of Ace’s mind, the doubt lurked, along with a dark, dangerous thought. If Arkarin Blackhawk dies on this miserable dust speck of a planet, I’m going to make them pay. All of them.
These backwater pukes would find out just how much damage the crew of Wolf’s Claw could do.
The light of the explosions ripped through the gloom of the dark wet night. The battle was raging to the east, both sides firing their heavy ordnance in support of the troops on the front lines. It was hard to tell what was happening on the ground, but from a few kilometers west of the fighting it had the look of a bloody stalemate. Whether it would stay that way was anyone’s guess.
Shira imagined the better-equipped mercenary forces could establish temporary local superiority at any point, but she didn’t know if they could hold it against the wave attacks of the revolutionaries. The mercs were mostly veterans, well trained and equipped. They’d been expensive to raise and arm, and they were the best troops on the planet. But with Saragossa’s system interdicted, they were stuck. It was impossible for them to reinforce or replace losses, and Shira knew they had to be running low on supplies. She was sure they’d managed to set up some limited local field production, at least to manufacture ammunition. Still, what primitive industry Saragossa possessed was mostly in the hands of the revolutionaries, and she figured the off-world troops had to be having a hard time maintaining combat effectiveness. The troops were professionals, with high standards of élan and unit pride, but they didn’t have any real stake in what happened on Saragossa, not past simply surviving until they could arrange transport and get the hell out.